The Powers That Be r5-1

by Cliff Ryder

  Jonas gripped his hand and shook it. “The pleasure has been mine, Theodore, and I’ll be ready for your acquaintances. Have a safe trip back.”

  “That we will. Farewell.”

  The man who’d remained behind cast off the line, and the cigarette boat backed away, its engines growling in the darkness. Theodore turned the boat south and accelerated into the darkness.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Jonas was on his cell, tucking a wireless Bluetooth receiver into his ear. “Bridge, I want someone on the tracker following that boat at all times. Do not let the Stinger’s signal out of your sight. We will be expecting a larger ship in the next hour. All positions stay alert—this is when they’re going to try something.

  Anyone see anything out of the ordinary, no matter how small, report it immediately.”

  William Hartung finished his third check of the Deep Water’s rear platform, his gaze sweeping from side to side and also checking the dark water astern. He found nothing out of the ordinary, but that didn’t lessen his apprehension about what he knew was coming. Although he felt this was where he was supposed to be, that everything in his life had trained him for this purpose, at the same time he couldn’t quell the nervous butterflies in his stomach as he patrolled the rear of the ship.

  Valedictorian of his high school class, along with state-champion wrestler back in Idaho, he’d been top of his gradu-ating class at the UCLA, and then came 9/11. Like many other men his age, William had wanted to make sure that an attack like that would never happen again on American soil, so he had applied to the nascent Department of Homeland Security. After four years there, however, he watched it turn into a sea of bureaucracy and waste. It was also about that time that he uncovered a major plot to bring Al Qaeda terrorists across the Canadian border to strike power plants near the Great Lakes, hoping to cause a chain reaction similar to the blackout of 2003, only much larger. While winning only a certificate of merit from his superior, William’s almost single-handed unraveling of the plot had brought him to the attention of Room 59, who had recruited him for their intelligence-analysis division.

  Before he could begin, however, he had to complete their intensive basic training, which far outclassed anything the DHS had to offer. This was his last week, and when Judy Burges had requested available volunteers for a two-to-four-day training assignment in Florida, he had gladly accepted.

  Now, however, the 9 mm Glock 22-C pistol in a clip-on holster under his shirt felt heavier with each step, and he was seriously reconsidering his choice to “see some action,” as he had put it, before settling down behind a desk.

  His cell phone vibrated and he activated his Bluetooth receiver.

  “Lights have been spotted off the port bow. We think this is our contact ship. Everyone stay alert.” The voice was that of the operative in change, a stern-looking guy named Heinemann.

  William was sure the name was fake, but wasn’t about to ask. He had seen the cigarette boat come alongside, and then the three guys carry a long box back aboard as they left.

  Something heavy was going down, and he was a part of it.

  He hoped this would look good on his record; it would be a nice way to begin his career with the supersecret agency.

  Everyone confirmed receiving the message, and he replied, as well. “Position Six confirmed. All clear aft.”

  Taking another look around the platform, William looked across the water on the port side, searching for the pickup ship’s signal. He saw twin lights, one white, one blue, about a half mile away. It didn’t seem to be getting any closer, however, which he thought was odd. William watched it for several more seconds, but the lights stayed where they were.

  Why aren’t they coming over? he wondered. A squeak on the deck behind him caught his attention. “Hey, what are you—?”

  His words died almost as quickly as he did. The man behind him wasn’t another member of the crew, but was instead clad from head to toe in a black wet suit. Before William could do anything, he fired a silenced pistol twice.

  William’s bullet-resistant vest stopped both bullets, one of them breaking his collarbone. He staggered back and clawed the Glock from his holster, opening his mouth to call for help as he brought the pistol up—

  The black-suited man took one step forward and put a bullet through William’s open mouth, blowing out the back of his skull. The young man from Idaho didn’t even register his own death as he fell to the deck. His index finger, however, already on the trigger of the primed and ready Glock, spasmed enough to discharge his weapon, sending a round into the floor. The report echoed through the yacht and across the water.

  “Shot fired aft! Shot fired aft!” Jonas broadcast to all positions. “P-Six, report! P-Five, cover aft deck. Everyone else, remain at your positions.”

  Pistol in hand, he left the saloon and ran to the sundeck rail.

  Although the back of the yacht had been designed in a cutaway style, with every higher level set farther ahead than the one below it, the staggered tops effectively cut his vision. But if he couldn’t see their assailants, they also couldn’t see him. He climbed down the ladder to the second level, leading with his gun the entire way. Pausing by the right spiral stairway, he tapped his receiver. Just as he was about to speak, he heard the distinctive chuff of a silenced weapon, followed by breaking glass. Immediately the loud, twin barks of a Glock answered.

  “This is P-Five. Have encountered at least three hostiles on the aft deck, right side. Cannot raise P-Six—” Two more shots sounded. “Hostiles may attempt to gain access through the left side of the ship, repeat, hostiles may attempt access through left side of the ship—” The transmission was cut off again by the sustained burst of a silenced submachine gun stitching holes in the ship wall. “Request backup immediately.”

  Jonas was impressed by the calm tone of the speaker—it had to be the ex–Las Vegas cop, Martinson. He was about to see if he could move to assist when he spotted the muzzle of submachinegun, perhaps an MP-5, poke up through the open stairwell. It was immediately followed by the hands holding it, then the upper body of a black-clad infiltrator. Jonas ducked behind the solid stairway railing, biding his time. For a moment there was only silence, broken by the soft lap of waves on the hull, and the strong odor of gunpowder on the breeze.

  Although he hadn’t been in a firefight in more than a decade, Jonas’s combat reflexes took over. Every second seemed to slow, allowing him to see and react in a way that seemed faster than normal. He heard the impact of the boarder’s foot on the deck, and pushed himself out, falling on his back as he came around the curved railing. His target had been leading with the MP-5 held high, and before he could bring it down, Jonas lined up his low-light sights on the man’s abdomen and squeezed the trigger twice. The 9 mm bullets punched in under the bottom edge of the intruder’s vest, mangling his stomach and intestines and dropping him with a strangled grunt to the deck. As soon as he hit, Jonas killed the man with a third shot to his face.

  “This is Lead One. I have secured the second aft deck.

  P-Two and P-Three—”

  He was cut off again as more shots sounded, this time from the front of the yacht. Jonas looked back out. A second team? he wondered.

  And then he realized the plan, and how they had been suckered. “All positions, all positions, they mean to take the ship! Repeat, hostiles intend to take the ship! Lead Two, secure the bridge. P-Three, remain where you are and target any hostiles crossing your area. Will clear from this end and meet you in the middle.”

  A chorus of affirmatives answered him, but Jonas was already moving. He stripped the dead man of his MP-5 and slipped three 30-round stick magazines into his pockets.As he stood, a small tube came spinning up the stairway, leaving a small trail of smoke as it hit the back wall and bounced onto the deck.

  Dropping the MP-5, Jonas hurled himself back around the other side of the stairway railing, clapping his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut and opening his mouth as he landed p
ainfully on his right elbow. The grenade went off with a deafening bang and a white burst of light that Jonas saw even through his closed eyelids. He heard more pistol shots below, followed by the canvas-ripping sounds of the silenced MP-5s firing back. Martinson’s going to get his ass shot off if I don’t get down there, he thought.

  Jonas shook his head and pushed himself up, grabbing the submachine gun and checking its load. He figured the stairs had to be covered, so that way was suicide. But there was a narrow space, perhaps less than a yard wide, between the back of the stairwell and the railing of the ship’s main level. If Jonas could get down there that way, he could possibly take them by surprise, and he’d also have the stairway as cover. It might also be suicide, but it would certainly be the last thing they’d expect. He crawled around the stairway again and searched the dead body, coming up with two XM-84 flash-bangs.

  Jonas grabbed one and set it for the shortest fuse time, one second. It should go off right as it hits the deck, he thought. He still heard the silenced guns firing below him, so somehow the two trainees had kept the rear team from advancing. He crawled to the edge of the platform, checked that his drop zone was clear, then pulled the pin and let the grenade go, pulling back and assuming the fire-in-the-hole position again.

  The grenade detonated. As soon as the shockwaves died away, Jonas rolled to the side of the boat just as a stream of bullets ripped through the floor where he had been. He jumped over the stairway, using one hand to keep in touch with his cover so he didn’t jump too far out and miss the boat entirely. The moment he sailed into the air, he saw a huge problem—one of the assault team had had the same idea of using the stairway for cover, and had moved right under him.

  Unable to stop himself, Jonas stuck his feet straight down and tried to aim for the guy’s head. The intruder glanced up, so surprised by what he saw that he forgot he had a gun in his hand for a moment. He had just started to bring it up when Jonas’s deck shoes crunched into his face. Jonas kept going, forcing the man’s head back and pushing him to the deck with the weight of his body. The mercenary collapsed to the floor, unmoving.

  Jonas didn’t stop to check him, but stepped on the man’s gun arm, snapping his wrist as he steadied his own MP-5, tracking anything moving on the aft deck. The second team member rolled on the deck, clutching his bleeding ears, his tearing eyes screwed tightly shut. Jonas cleared the rest of the area, then came out and slapped the frame of his gun against the man’s skull, knocking him unconscious. He then cleared the rest of the area, stepping over Hartung’s corpse as he did so. Only when he was sure there were no hostiles lying in wait did he activate his transceiver.

  “P-Five, this is Lead. Lock word is tango. Have secured the aft deck. Report.”

  “This is P-Five, key word is salsa. I took a couple in the vest, maybe cracked a rib, but I’m okay. What should we do?”

  “Take P-Six’s area and defend it. Hole up in the rear saloon, and keep watch as best as you can. As soon as we’ve secured the ship, someone will come and relieve you.”

  “Got it. I’ll be going forward by the left side, so please don’t shoot me.”

  “If you’re not wearing black, you’ll be okay.” Jonas heard steps coming and raised the gun, just in case a hostile was using the ex-cop as a hostage to get to him. When he saw the stocky Native American come around the corner, Glock first, Jonas held up his hand before the other man could draw a bead on him.

  Martinson nodded, and Jonas pointed to the motionless man in front of him and the other one bleeding in the corner of the deck. “Arm yourself, search these two and secure them, then hole up. I’m heading forward. Anyone comes back that doesn’t give you the key word, kill them.”

  “Right.”

  Jonas headed topside, figuring he’d take the high-ground advantage. Scattered shots came from the bow, and he planned to get the drop on the other team. “P-One through P-Four, Lock word is tango. Report.”

  “P-One here, key word is salsa. We’ve got two hostiles pinned at the bow, behind the watercraft. Attempts to dislodge have met with heavy resistance, including flash-bangs. P-Two is down with superficial injuries. We’re under cover on the left side of the ship, trying to keep them in place.”

  “Affirmative. P-Three?”

  “I’m moving up on the right side to cut off their escape route.”

  “P-Four? Come in, P-Four?” There was no answer.

  “P-Four, if you can’t speak, key any button on your phone once.” Nothing. Shit, he thought. “All right, P-One, hold tight. P-Three, advance to the corner and keep them busy.

  I’ll be there in a second. Lead Two, if you are in position, key twice.”

  There was a pause, then Jonas heard two beeps. Good.

  He climbed onto the roof of the yacht, crept past the radar and radio antennae, then crossed the roof of the bridge, walking lightly. As he came upon the forward observation room, he saw a black shadow crawling up onto the roof below him. Jonas hit the deck and drew a bead on the man.

  Before he could fire, however, three shots sounded from below him, slamming into the man’s side. The intruder jerked as the bullets hit him, then rolled off the observation roof.

  That gave Jonas an idea. “P-Two and Three, fire in the hole.” He set the timer on his last grenade and skittered it across the roof of the observation deck, the flash-bang disappearing from sight and exploding, lighting the night in a brilliant flash.

  “Advance now!” Jonas jumped down to the observation roof and ran forward, training his pistol on the two prostrate, moaning men as the two trainees also came from both corners and covered them, kicking their weapons away. Jonas walked to the edge of the roof and let himself down, then checked the prone body lying underneath the shattered windows. He glanced up to see the other two men, their wrists and ankles neatly cuffed back-to-back in the middle of the bow area.

  “Lead Two, this is Lead. Bow is secure. Tally is six hostiles, two dead, four captured. Our side has one KIA, two WIA, one MIA.”

  “Acknowledged. Bridge is secure,” Karen replied.

  “P-One, make sure P-Two is stable, then head back and reinforce P-Five, and make sure you give the proper key word. P-Three, you’re with me,” Jonas said.

  Leading the way, Jonas and the trainee swept and cleared the entire ship, room by room. Along the way, they found the body of the young woman who had been at position four, taken out with a clean head shot. Jonas checked her vitals anyway, even though he knew it was a lost cause, then covered her face with a towel and kept moving. Only when he was satisfied that no one else was aboard did he contact everyone.

  “The ship is clear—repeat, the ship is clear. Karen, let’s head in. We’ve got wounded to take care of.”

  “What happens afterward?” she asked on a separate channel.

  “I’m going to visit Mr. Castilo and ask him a few questions.”

  “Do you want to interrogate any of the captives on the way?”

  Jonas considered that for only a moment. “Negative. All of them are either deaf from the flash-bangs, concussed or both and besides, I doubt they know anything about what’s going down today. No, I need to go to the source.”

  “I’ll contact Primary and update—?”

  “I’m the agent in charge, I’ll do it,” Jonas interrupted. He sent a call to headquarters on a second line. “No doubt Judy will flip over this. Do you still have a fix on that Stinger crate?”

  “Yes, it’s heading south-southwest, probably to Paradise.”

  “Naturally. See if you can get this behemoth to go any faster, will you? I’ve got a really bad feeling that this thing is going down faster than we thought.” He gripped the hand-rail and waited for the connection, willing the yacht to speed them to their destination more quickly.

  Losing an operative on a mission was always Kate’s biggest concern, even though she had long ago resigned herself to the fact that it would happen. She acknowledged the people who joined Room 59 knew the attendant risks, and their training
had been designed to make them the most formidable operatives in the world. She also accepted that sending one person directly into harm’s way to prevent a catastrophe that could hurt hundreds or thousands of innocents was reasonable. However, whenever she lost an operative it was always painful.

  When Hartung’s implanted chip sent out the signal indicating he was deceased, NiteMaster had alerted both Kate and Judy, each of whom had arrived just in time to watch the takedown of the last two remaining hijackers. All they could do was watch.

  NiteMaster signaled that he had the incoming call, and patched it to Kate directly. “This is Primary,” she said.

  Jonas’s voice was as calm as ever, but he was speaking slightly faster, which was how Kate knew he was angry.

  “This is Beta. After our meeting, the buyers tried to take over the ship and its cargo and marked us as expendable. In the course of defending ourselves, two of our trainees were killed and two were wounded. We killed two of the hostiles, and captured the remaining four, who will need transport once we’re ashore.”

  “What’s your next move?” Kate asked.

  “We’re heading to Castilo’s home. There are two operatives on surveillance there already. Contact them and pull them out,” Jonas said.

  “Don’t you want backup?”

  “Not right now. The rest of the team isn’t going to be operational after what happened, and I don’t need inexperienced members watching my back. A single operative will stand a better chance of infiltrating the target and getting the information we need.”

  “How can we help?”

  “Two things. First, contact Alpha and have him ready to depart Paradise in the longest-range ship he can get—we may need to insert into Paradise, and this yacht isn’t going to be fast enough. Any information you can give him on patrols or any other obstacles would be appreciated.”

  “He’s already been briefed and will be on the way to you immediately. What’s the second thing?” Kate asked.

  “They brought proof that a Cuban military officer is involved in the mission.” Jonas paused, as if weighing how to say what he knew, then blurted it out. “As I’m sure you know, it was Damason Valdes.”