CHAPTER
* * *
TWENTY-ONE
Ollie Buskerud shook hands diffidently with Colonel Ramadan, “At your service, Colonel,” he squeaked. He nodded at Chief Vest and Inspector Hamnes. “I will be your guide,” he added.
Ramadan looked carefully at Buskerud. The man was short and weather-beaten. He sported a neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard and wore thick spectacles. Genetic engineering hadn’t yet become a standard procedure on Thorsfinni’s World, so most of the people had to go through life with birth defects like astigmatism. Buskerud’s handshake was too limp for Ramadan’s liking and his voice had the effect on him of fingernails scraping down a blackboard. The Marine officer hoped his expression did not reveal what he was thinking just now.
“Mr. Buskerud knows the Thorvalds better than anybody else, Colonel,” Chief Vest said. “He will identify the most likely locations for a camp and we will visit them all. Inspector Hamnes will coordinate the operation, and I hope you will assist him.”
“Delighted, Mr. Buskerud,” Ramadan said without conviction.
“As am I, Colonel.” The little man bowed. Ramadan also noted, with some dismay, that he had very bad teeth. Mentally he shook his head. He’d just been around Marines too long.
“We have set up a temporary operations center in the basement, gentlemen,” Hamnes said. “We will coordinate the operation from there. If you would come this way, we’ll get started.” He nodded at his superior and ushered the men out the door.
The operations center was in an overheated and brightly lighted but too small room beside the building’s basement power plant. The plant was a fossil-fuel affair that required constant attendance and reeked. A man in dirty overalls cursed and muttered about the furnace, with its incessant clanking and banging.
“This is the best we can do,” Hamnes said as they entered the makeshift operations center. Several police officers who had been sitting there got out of their chairs, and Hamnes introduced Ramadan and Buskerud to them. “These officers will head the special action teams we will send to the campsites Mr. Buskerud will identify for us. Gentlemen,” he said, turning to address the officers, “this will be a long and difficult operation. Please be seated and let’s get organized.”
The plan Hamnes had come up with was very simple and involved a hundred officers in ten teams. The ten men in the operations center were the team leaders. All the officers selected were trained in special weapons and tactics. They would reach the camps by air or by ground transport—depending on the weather and terrain conditions—secure their respective areas, and search them. If nothing was found, they would deploy to the next site on the list until all the possible sites had been covered. Buskerud’s knowledge of the mountains would be vital to the operation because he knew all the most likely refuge spots, as well as permanent sites, which included a few private homes, all of which would be closed up during the winter.
“Time is against us,” Hamnes told the officers. “As soon as the weather breaks, the kidnappers will try for the coast, I am sure, and when they are safely away, Mrs. Conorado will be of no more use to them. Before they can do that, we must find her, gentlemen.”
“Now, Mr. Buskerud, Colonel Ramadan, and I will coordinate your deployments from here. Remember who you are dealing with, gentlemen, and use whatever force is necessary to subdue them without causing harm to Mrs. Conorado. You all know that the general orders of this department call for negotiations in every hostage situation. That will not work here, gentlemen. Neutralize the bad guys and rescue the hostage, it’s that simple. If you can’t stop the bad guys, rescue the hostage; we’ll get them later. The weather service will be giving us fifteen minute updates. We’ll be in touch with all of you constantly. Mr. Buskerud?”
Ollie Buskerud came to the front of the room. He nodded at the technician in his booth at the rear, and a huge map of the Thorvalds appeared on one wall. “All the permanent and temporary campsites in the range are marked,” he told the policemen. “All the private homes are marked.” As he spoke, the sites appeared on the map in different colors. “I suggest you hit the permanent sites first because in this weather I don’t think your fugitives would be dumb enough to camp in the open with nothing but sleeping bags, or pitch a tent, for that matter. But remember, this map is not complete. Any structure put up within the last year or so would not appear here. We have asked the Confederation Navy,” he nodded at Ramadan, “to assist with their geosynchronous surveillance satellites. If the weather clears for only an instant, their infrared capability might be of great help to us. But remember to keep us always apprised of your exact location. We don’t want to get you mixed up with potential targets.”
“What kind of ground transportation will you be using?” Ramadan asked Hamnes.
The inspector shrugged. “We have snow cats—heavy duty commercial vehicles used to haul cargo like timber. They are powerful but slow, but they will do the job good enough.”
“Could you use a Dragon?” Ramadan asked.
“Dragon?”
“Armored All-Surface Assault Landing Craft, Air Cushioned. The Marines basic ground vehicle.”
“Ah! Can you get us one?”
“Maybe. We had several deadlined in the motor pool back at Camp Ellis, when 34th FIST deployed. I think for this operation I could get the base mechanics to put one back on line and ship it out here. It’s worth a try. Dragons can go anywhere.”
“How long would it take to get one here?” a policeman asked.
“If I call right now and they can get one in working order, maybe eight hours. Will the storm hold that long?”
“The weather service thinks so. But Colonel, if 34th FIST is deployed, where from do you get the crew to drive this Dragon?”
“You’re looking at it,” Colonel Ramadan answered.
Sabbath Lordsday, followed closely by Jesse Gospel and Joshua Merab, all holding weapons at the ready, stepped onto the Cambria’s bridge. “Please stand very still and do not interfere,” Lordsday said. “Captain Tuit, Miss Lenfen, Captain Conorado, kindly step over there by the navigator’s station and do not move until I tell you.”
“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing, goddamnit!” Tuit shouted.
Lordsday motioned with the barrel of his blaster. “Move, Captain, or I will kill you. I will kill everyone on this bridge, on this ship, if you don’t do precisely what I ask.” Lordsday spoke in a calm, conversational tone of voice and smiled. It was evident he meant just what he said. Slowly, the trio moved over to the navigator’s console and stood there, hands raised. Conorado noticed that two of the “miners” were missing.
“Brother Gospel.” Lordsday nodded toward Jesse Gospel.
A tall, angular man, Gospel stepped briskly up to Jennifer Lenfen’s station. He withdrew a case from a pocket and popped out a crystal, which he inserted into a port. “Your computer now belongs to me,” he said. “Minerva?”
“Yes, Brother Gospel?” Minerva answered.
“Send the message.”
“The message is sent, Brother Gospel.”
Gospel looked up from the console and grinned. “This is a wonderful program I have written,” he said to Jennifer. “I have overridden all your safeguards and installed my own password. You commercial people are too free with descriptions of the systems you use on your ships.” He typed some commands on the keyboard. “Brother Lordsday, the course is set and cannot be altered. It will take us to three thousand kilometers above the Earth’s surface over the Western hemisphere. It will be nighttime when we arrive at that point in, um, precisely forty-seven hours, eighteen minutes, twenty-two seconds. And,” he added, smiling at Captain Tuit, “you cannot possibly alter course manually because,” he nodded at the navigation console, “we have taken care of that.”
“Good!” Lordsday pronounced.
“What about my men in the propulsion unit?” Tuit asked.
“They do not matter, Captain.”
“What ‘message’ did
you send?” Jennifer asked Gospel.
“To the President of the Confederation of Worlds!” he answered. “Informing her that we have taken over this ship in protest—”
“Stop!” Lordsday commanded. “No more! They do not need to know any more. Now, Brother Gospel, have the computer tell the crew and passengers to report to the passenger dining area for an emergency meeting. You,” he gestured at his four prisoners, “will come with Joshua and me, and when you are all gathered in the dining room I will explain everything to you. Captain Conorado, I know what you are thinking.”
“I’m thinking what any Marine would think in a situation like this, mister,” Conorado answered.
“I know.” Lordsday smiled tightly. “But stop it. Even if you were able to jump us and take our guns, this ship will still proceed to its destination. There is no way you can alter its course. Now, all of you, we are going to the dining area. Please do not try anything foolish on the way.”
The thirteen other passengers and eight remaining crewmen stood and sat about the dining room expectantly.
“This ship is now under my control,” Lordsday announced. “After this meeting you will proceed to your respective staterooms and remain there until our mission is complete.”
“And just what is that ‘mission,’ sir?” Ambassador Franks asked. “And just who are you?”
“I am a soldier in the Army of Zion,” Lordsday answered. “My mission is to send a message to your Confederation. Obey my orders and you will not be harmed. Interfere with our mission and you will die.”
“Where are Conrad and Bernstein?” one of the crewmen asked, looking around for the engineers.
“They no longer matter,” Lordsday answered.
“You goddamned sonofabitch!” Captain Tuit shouted. “You killed my men and you’re a lying bastard! You’re going to kill us too! What the hell are you up to? This is a goddamned cargo ship, you can’t hijack it!”
“Captain, Captain,” Lordsday admonished quietly, “you should not take the Lord’s name in vain. Proceed now to your suites in an orderly manner. All will become clear to you in time.”
“Jenny,” Conorado whispered to Lenfen at his side, “they’re going to kill us. Stay in your room until I come for you.”
“Lew,” she whispered back, “it’ll be too dangerous! What can one man do anyway?”
“Watch me,” Conorado whispered.
“Now that we are alone, my dear, shouldn’t we get to know one another better?” Bengt said. He had pulled Marta’s pants down to her knees, as far as they would go while she was still sitting with her legs bound at the ankles.
“Kiruna will be back any minute!” Marta gasped as he ran his ice cold hands over her buttocks. Bengt only snorted. One hand crept up between her shoulder blades. She felt like throwing up. “Untie my hands. If you promise not to hurt me I’ll be quiet,” Marta wheezed, her breath taken away by the filthy probing of Bengt’s cold fingers.
Bengt paused and looked up into Marta’s face. “You dare to cross me, Mrs. Marine, and I will kill you.” He placed the tip of his knife under Marta’s chin and pressed the blade into her flesh. She gasped and tried to wrench her head away from the point but Bengt kept pressing until blood welled out of the wound. He laughed, and tumbled her out of the chair onto her stomach, where he cut the ropes binding her hands behind her back. Pinning Marta’s legs with his knees, Bengt wrenched her pants as far down as he could and began running his hands over her exposed backside. Her hands free now, Marta tried to lever herself up off the stone-cold floor, but Bengt forced her back down with one hand. “Ah, my pretty,” he whispered, his breath hot on the back of her neck, “let us make love face-to-face.” He grabbed her shoulder and began to roll Marta onto her back.
Kiruna slammed a chair onto the top of Bengt’s head. He fell halfway across Marta’s prostrate body, and Kiruna hit him again. Then she dragged Bengt off Marta and, breathing heavily, brought the chair down on her shoulders. The force of the blow stunned Marta and slammed her back down on the floor. Screaming inarticulately in Norse, Kiruna jumped on Marta’s back and began pulling her hair.
“Bitch!” Kiruna screamed in English. “You want fucking my man? I fucking fuck you fucking good!” She tried to slam Marta’s head into the floor. Marta braced her neck as much as she could and attempted to get her arms underneath her body to lever herself up enough to try to roll over on her back. Her hand closed over something hard. Bengt’s knife!
Kiruna raked her nails over Marta’s face, clawing and screaming in English and Norse. “Pretty—no—more—I—finish—” Kiruna shouted. To get at Marta’s face, Kiruna flipped her on her back, and as Marta rolled over she drove the blade straight into Kiruna’s face. The knife slammed almost effortlessly right into Kiruna’s left eyeball—up to the hilt. Kiruna Rena, professional hit woman, was dead before her body collapsed on top of Marta.
Marta lay on the floor for a moment, too stunned to react, her breath coming in hissing gasps. At last her heart stopped its pounding inside her chest and she found the strength to roll out from under Kiruna’s body. Using Bengt’s bloodstained knife, she cut the ropes around her ankles. She threw the knife as far from her as she could and, pulling her pants up, got shakily to her feet. Bengt lay unconscious in a pool of blood seeping from several deep gashes on his head. Quickly, she threw on her coat and stumbled toward the open door. Already, driven snow was piling up inside the cabin. She stepped out into the raging storm. Whatever dangers nature had in store for her, Marta thought, could not be worse than what lay behind her in that cabin.
In her rush to get away, she neglected to don either gloves or headgear.
“Madam President,” Glecko Malaka began gravely, “I have just received the most dreadful communication.”
Madam President Chang-Sturdevant looked up from her reader and regarded her chief of staff balefully. He was standing here personally, so the news was very bad indeed. But with Glecko, all news was bad anyway. “Here is a transcript of a most extraordinary message the communications staff has just received from what appear to be terrorists aboard a cargo ship, the SS Cambria, even now en route to Earth’s orbit where—” His voice faltered. “—where they are going to blow it up!”
Madam Chang-Sturdevant took the palm reader Malaka offered and looked at it. “Glecko, what in the world is this nonsense?”
The message read:
WE ARE THE ARMY OF ZION, THE SWORD OF THE CITY OF GOD.
MOST HONORED MADAM CHANG-STURDEVANT, PRESIDENT OF THE CONFEDERATION OF WORLDS, GREETINGS AND MAY THE BLESSING OF OUR LORD AND SAVIOR, JESUS CHRIST, BE UPON YOU ALWAYS!
WE MAKE THE FOLLOWING TESTAMENT:
WHEREAS THE EVIL OF SATAN IS NOT TURNED AWAY, BUT HIS HAND IS STRETCHED OUT AGAINST GOD’S PEOPLE IN MANIFOLD JUDGMENTS, PARTICULARLY IN DRAWING OUT PERSECUTIONS AGAINST THEM AND MORE ESPECIALLY RESPECTING OURSELVES IN OUR PROVINCE OF KINGDOM, DIMINISHING OUR SUBSTANCE, CUTTING SHORT OUR HARVEST, BLASTING OUR MOST PROMISING UNDERTAKINGS, AND IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE ACCOMPLISHING THE UNSETTLING OF US, AND BY HIS MORE IMMEDIATE HAND SNATCHING AWAY MANY OF OUR EMBRACES BY SUDDEN AND VIOLENT DEATHS EVEN AT THIS TIME WHEN THE SWORD IS DEVOURING SO MANY BOTH AT HOME AND ABROAD, AND THAT AFTER MANY DAYS OF PUBLIC AND SOLEMN ADDRESSING OF THE LORD FOR SURCREASE OF THESE HIDEOUS EVILS, AND ALTHOUGH CONSIDERING THE MANY SINS PREVAILING IN THE MIDST OF US, WE CANNOT BUT CONCLUDE THAT THE LORD GOD OUR MASTER HAS PERMITTED THESE DISASTERS TO BE ACCOMPLISHED AGAINST US FOR A REASON.
“Jesus H. Christ, get on with it!” Chang-Sturdevant muttered.
DOUBTLESS THERE ARE SOME PARTICULAR SINS ABOUT WHICH GOD IS ANGRY WITH OUR ISRAEL THAT HAVE NOT BEEN DULY SEEN AND EXTIRPATED BY US, ABOUT WHICH GOD EXPECTS TO BE SOUGHT, AND IT IS EVIDENT THAT CHIEF AMONG THEM HAS BEEN OUR DOCILITY AND INACTION IN THE FACE OF THE OVERPOWERING EVIL THAT EMANATES FROM YOUR GOVERNMENT, MADAM PRESIDENT! THE INCURSION OF YOUR MINIONS UPON OUR PLANTATIONS IS AN INTOLERABLE AFFRONT TO GOD AND HIS CHOSEN PEOPLE! THAT YOUR GOVERNMENT HAS CHOSEN TO INTRUDE UPON U
S IN THIS SLY AND COVERT WAY, PRETENDING TO EXTEND THE HAND OF FRIENDSHIP TO OUR PEOPLE WHILE HOLDING A SWORD OVER US, IS THE VERY MARK OF SATAN, AND WERE IT KNOWN AMONG RIGHTEOUS AND HONORABLE MEN, THEY WOULD RISE UP AS ONE AND DEMAND THAT YOU INSTANTLY WITHDRAW YOUR DETESTABLE OPPRESSORS FROM OUR LANDS AND PROVINCES.
THEREFORE, WE MUST NOW SET ASIDE THE PATIENCE AND MERCY OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST AND TAKE UP THE SWORD OF JEHOVAH. IT IS WITH THE GREATEST SADNESS WE NOW INFORM YOUR EXCELLENCY THAT WE HAVE BEEN FORCED TO SEIZE THE CARGO SHIP, SS CAMBRIA, THE PROPERTY OF THE SEWALL SHIPPING COMPANY, ITS CARGO, CREW, AND PASSENGERS. CAST THEN YOUR EYES TOWARD THE NIGHT SKY AND WITNESS THE ANGER OF THE LORD!
REVELATION 10:18
Madam Chang-Sturdevant blew out her cheeks and looked up at her chief of staff. “Long-winded bastards, aren’t they? What’s the quote from the Book of Revelation?”
“ ‘By these three was the third part of men killed, by the fire, and by the smoke and by the brimstone, which issued out of their mouths.’ That’s why I think they plan to blow her up, ma’am.”
“Yes, and seems to me they plan to blow her up so everyone’ll know about it. And they’re going to do it when it’s night in this hemisphere. It’s eight hours now, so it’ll be either tonight or tomorrow. We need to know where that ship is now and how far it is from Earth’s orbit, and I want to know who’s on board her and what she’s carrying.”
“The navy’s checking now to get a fix on her position, ma’am, and I have some of that information. She’s carrying a full load of ore from the mines on Siluria—it’s worth trillions. If she goes up, Sewall may well be bankrupted, ma’am, and you know the effect that could have on the economy. Sewall gave us a partial list of passengers, but since it was made up months ago, we can’t be sure it’s complete. Ambassador Jamison Franks III and his team were to have been picked up on Thorsfinni’s World.”
Starfist: Kingdom's Swords Page 23
