by Rachel Grant
They were dead in the water.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Luke shouted instructions for everyone on the upper deck to gather at the center. The boat could list if forty people all rushed to one side at the same time. Perhaps because he was in uniform, the passengers listened to him.
“Are we sinking?” Charlene Gray asked.
The boat rocked and lurched, but he had no idea if they were taking on water. They weren’t listing at the moment, which was a good sign.
“Your attention please,” a firm male voice said over the loud speakers. “Life vests are stored in the benches on the upper deck and in overhead bins at both ends of the vessel. Please don a life vest and wait in place. Do not proceed to the passenger assembly areas. Blackfish Line crew members are assessing the situation, and will provide further instructions shortly.”
“Stay here with your parents,” Luke said to Undine. “I’m going to find Parker and Commander Martinez.”
“I want to go with—”
He pressed a fast kiss to her lips. “You promised yesterday you’d do what I say in these situations.”
“Aww. Shit. I did. But I didn’t think it would ever actually happen.”
“Neither did I.” He clenched his jaw. “I’m starting to think Yuri’s takedown was a little too easy.”
“It didn’t seem easy when Ivan was pointing the gun at me.”
“What?” Charlene said, adding a shriek to the end of the word.
“He backed himself into a corner,” Luke said. “He knew he’d never walk out of there.”
“But we got the—” She paused and let out a fake cough, cutting off what she’d been about to say as she cast a sheepish glance at her mother and the other passengers, who were paying close attention to their conversation.
Luke had a horrible feeling Yuri had known what he was doing all along. “Pass out life jackets to everyone. I’ll go find Parker.”
He pulled on the gloves that were part of the dress uniform and, facing outward, braced his hands on both rails of the steep outdoor stairs that led to the lower deck and slid down on his hands in a rapid descent. He landed on the promenade with a thump.
He wanted to pull his weapon, but party guests inside the galley area could easily assume he was a terrorist and charge him. He entered the cabin through the rear door. People shouted questions to the Blackfish Line attendant who was dutifully passing out life jackets. Some passengers displayed fear, while others only showed annoyance. It was easy to see who thought this was simple engine trouble, and who suspected something far worse.
He hurried through the cabin toward the front of the boat, looking for someone from the Coast Guard, given that the Blackfish employees were all busy calming guests. He was stopped by several people, each asking if he knew what was going on. He guessed they flagged him because of the uniform. Dress or not, it indicated authority.
He shook his head in frustration. He could be going up against terrorists and he was in his damn Dinner Dress Blues. Parker and the others were in their Coast Guard winter blues, but those were service uniforms. Functional. At the very least, he wished he had a radio in addition to the gun, but it hadn’t occurred to him he’d need one. They weren’t exactly standard for formal occasions.
He yanked off his bow tie as he crossed the center cabin toward the front. At the doorway, he pressed himself against the frame, drew his weapon, and peeked into the room where the ceremony had been underway. He swore. The reporter was front and center with the governor and premier, giving what had all the earmarks of a live-on-the-scene special report.
Shit. There would be no containing this story.
He tucked his weapon back into the holster and strode into the room, determined to put a stop to what could well be feeding information directly to Yuri’s cohorts.
He’d bet everything he owned this was Yuri’s last play.
Godamnmotherfuckinghell.
He didn’t have enough words to express how fucked up this situation had gotten in less than thirty seconds.
Be the SEAL. An operator. You’re on an op that just went FUBAR.
Adapt. Adjust. Think. Survive.
If necessary, kill.
He wasn’t a scientist right now. He wasn’t a NOAA lieutenant. He was a badass SEAL, and some motherfucker had just attacked his country, his state, his home, and his woman.
These assholes were going to pay.
He marched up to the reporter who was excitedly reporting on breaking news. She had no fucking clue how much danger she was in and was making the most of her moment in the spotlight after being assigned to cover what would have been a footnote on the eleven p.m. broadcast. He slammed the camera to the floor with one hand and yanked the microphone from the reporter’s hand with the other. “Cut,” he said, his tone lacking irony. He was too pissed for that. He faced the reporter. “Why don’t you just tell the fucking terrorists our social security numbers while you’re at it?”
Her eyes widened. “No one has confirmed—”
“I don’t give a fuck what has been confirmed. You need to assume it’s an attack first and act accordingly, not assume it’s a damn engine malfunction and feed intel directly to the people who’ve disabled this boat. If I’m wrong, yay. I’ll buy you a new camera. But if you’re wrong? We’re all fucking dead.”
His gaze scanned the room, spotting Boatswain’s Mate Shales, pinned in the corner by anxious passengers. Luke nodded for Shales to meet him at the door for the promenade.
The man extracted himself, and they stepped outside. “Good job getting the reporter to shut the hell up. I tried but—”
“I have nothing to lose. Right now, I’m a NOAA scientist. You’re on duty.”
“Exactly.”
“What’s the word?” Luke asked.
“There’s a hole in the side of the car deck, and the engine seized. No word on why yet. Commander Martinez is on the bridge, the others are on the car deck, searching for planted explosives and the person who set them.”
“We’ve got tangoes on the boat?”
“No one knows. The charge could’ve been on a timer.” Shales nodded to the water. “Adelie is on her way with a bomb-sniffing dog aboard, but it’ll take the cutter at least fifteen minutes to get here. For now, we aren’t taking on water, at least.”
Luke rubbed a hand over his face. “Why aren’t we evacuating passengers onto the lifeboats and life rafts already?”
“Orders are to stay in place until we know if we’ve got tangoes aboard. If they’re hiding among the passengers and we help them escape…”
Luke nodded. He’d suspected as much.
“When Adelie gets here, we’ll probably start tendering passengers to her. Each guest will be thoroughly screened.”
“I need a radio so I can help with the search.”
“They have extras on the bridge. I’ll radio the commander and tell him you’re coming.”
“Thanks.” Luke vaulted over the gate that blocked the employees-only stairs to the bridge and hurried up the steps.
Commander Martinez unlocked the door to admit him. “It appears we were wrong about Yuri, Lt. Sevick.”
“If you give me a radio, Commander, I’ll join the others in searching for tangoes.”
Martinez pressed a two-way into Luke’s hand. “We need to find them quickly. A Ukrainian neo-Nazi group has claimed credit for disabling the boat.” He waved toward a TV monitor mounted to the side of the helm. Dread surged through Luke as he viewed CNN’s bold red headline: BREAKING NEWS: TERRORISTS SEIZE US/CANADIAN FERRY WITH WASHINGTON STATE GOVERNOR ABOARD.
They didn’t yet have live helicopter feed of the ferry in the middle of the strait, so naturally, they aired the one piece of film they did have—Luke’s angry approach just before he broke the camera. It aired in a loop, replaying on the right side of the screen, while an anxious news anchor spoke directly to the camera on the left. On the bright side, maybe this would crush Stefan’s desire to put Luke on the TV
show.
The ferry captain turned up the volume.
“Again, if you are just joining us, breaking news from the waters that separate the US and Canada in the Pacific Northwest. Terrorists have seized an international ferry that was hosting a private party attended by the governor of Washington. We’ve just gotten word the premier of British Columbia is aboard as well. A Ukrainian neo-Nazi group, upset by the US and Canada’s decision not to train Ukrainian troops engaged with Russia to reclaim the Crimean Peninsula, have claimed credit for the taking of the vessel. They have stated that if any US or Canadian Navy or Coast Guard vessels get within a thousand yards of the stranded ferry, they will begin killing passengers.”
Luke’s stomach clenched. “Do we believe their claim?” he asked. “Are they on board the boat?”
Martinez gave a sharp nod.
“One of my crew is missing,” the ferry captain said. “Either he’s the one who disabled the engine—which I don’t believe for a second—or he encountered a terrorist in the engine room.”
Luke turned for the door. “I’ll join the search.”
“One more thing, Lt. Sevick,” the commander said. “The timing of the explosion was precise. The bomb went off the exact moment the governor and premier were about to sign the agreement. If the bomb was set off with a remote, the terrorist must’ve been in the cabin at the time. Which means at least one terrorist was on the guest list.”
“And another was already in place in the engine room,” the ferry captain said. “The engine went offline seconds after the blast. So we’re dealing with a minimum of two individuals.”
Undine hadn’t wanted to carry an evening bag and now was grateful for the discreet pocket in her faux-fur wrap, because she did have her cell phone. With a great feeling of accomplishment, she pulled out her phone. She could call Curt, except his line would probably be busy, so she’d call Luke and find out what he’d learned. Or she’d call Keith. Someone, anyone, who was in the loop and could tell her if the boat was about to sink or be invaded by Ukrainian neo-Nazis.
The mood on the top deck was anxious after the prolonged silence from the bridge. There’d been no further announcements. Nothing. Passengers grumbled about wanting to go to the main cabin, but she argued, insisting their orders were to stay in place. For whatever reason, they listened to her. Probably because Luke’s inferred authority had transferred to her in his absence. She had to believe that if there were terrorists aboard the boat, it wouldn’t be wise to have the passengers all clustered in one place. Why make it easy for them?
But still, she told herself it could just be an engine malfunction.
She unlocked her phone in hopes of calling someone who could tell her what the hell was going on and discovered the flaw in her plan: they were in the middle of the strait; she didn’t have service. She stared at the circle with the slash through it, the symbol that said in no uncertain terms: Give it up, bitch. She didn’t even know her phone had that symbol until she’d arrived in Neah Bay.
She’d had to buy four phones since arriving in Washington two and a half months ago. The one she arrived with blew up on Petrel, the next one didn’t work in Neah Bay, then had burned in the fire, the third she’d bought in Forks but it had also burned with everything else, the fourth had been smashed by Yuri, and now this one, which she’d bought this afternoon when they ventured out to grab her gown, failed in the middle of the strait.
What was it with Washington and cell phones? Or was it an Olympic Peninsula thing?
She sucked in a sharp, painful breath, irrationally upset over the very least of her problems.
Damn Yuri for so many horrible things. For killing her coworkers. For trying to kill her. If Luke or her parents were harmed tonight, she’d march straight to his hospital room and rip open the sutures from his surgery and then she’d taser his open wounds.
Or maybe she’d just shoot him.
She gazed across the deck. Where was Luke? Had he found Parker? Or was he in danger?
He’s a former SEAL. He can take care of himself.
He might be a former SEAL, but he’d gone alone—without knowing what he was stepping into—down to the heart of the boat. His cell was probably as useless as hers. He’d had to find the Coast Guard contingent without the aid of radios. And there could be—probably were—people on board who would shoot first.
The ferry was in the middle of the strait. That much she knew. In the long minutes Luke had been gone, Coast Guard vessels had raced toward them and…stopped.
The boats were too far to swim to without a wetsuit.
It was as if they had orders to stand down, come no closer.
Which brought to mind the question…what was the penalty for breaching the buffer zone that surrounded the ferry? The silence from the bridge was worrisome. Did they have control of the bridge? Were terrorists aboard, or were they operating remotely?
How far away could someone be and still set off a bomb?
How far to set off a nuke?
Did Yuri’s compatriots have a better cellular provider in this black hole of coverage? What was the carrier of jihadists or anti-Russians, or neo-Nazis or whomever the hell they were dealing with?
“Luke will find them and take them out,” her father said.
She nodded even as she said, “He’s not Superman.” It wasn’t that she didn’t have faith in his abilities; it was that he wasn’t invincible. Bullets wouldn’t bounce off him. She was terrified something would happen to him.
“The Coast Guard is on board. He has backup.”
“Why aren’t the other boats getting any closer?” her mother asked. “We could be evacuating to the other boats, or getting on the life rafts if the ferry is in danger of sinking.”
“They must have orders not to come closer,” Undine said. “I think we’re dealing with a hostage situation.”
“You think they’ve taken the governor hostage?” Charlene asked. “How terrifying.”
Undine shook her head. She watched the circle of boats bobbing in the waves. “No. Not just the governor.” She turned to glance across the deck. At least forty people milled about, orange life vests around their necks, reluctantly following the rules. “I think we’re all the hostages.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Luke scanned the car deck with his gun out. This deck was usually monitored by ferry personnel and off-limits when the ferry was underway, but this run was different in every way, starting with the fact that there were hardly any cars, just three catering vans and two satellite news vans.
The obvious culprit would be the caterers. But none other than the secretary of Homeland Security had said the caterers and absolutely everyone with access to the party would be screened. Which meant either someone had magnificent cover, or they’d straight up stolen ID. Luke was inclined to believe in the stolen ID. Nothing elaborate when simple would work.
He’d entered the deck from the aft stairs on the port side and could only see the port half of the tunnel, which was split down the middle by a center divider. The divider housed more stairs that led up to the passenger deck, as well as access to the engine room and other maintenance rooms. An archway by the center stairs connected the port and starboard tunnels.
“Sevick?” Parker called out from the other side of the divider. “I need backup.”
Luke hurried to the archway and cursed when he rounded the corner. Ray Ferguson stood with his back to the metal partition with his hands up. He glared at Parker, who had his gun pointed at Ray’s heart.
“Good timing, Sevick. Look who I just found in the storage locker. Tell us what you were doing there, Ray,” Parker said in an irritated tone.
“I already told you, brah. I came down to the car deck for a smoke.” Ray might have used Hawaiian slang, but his usual laid-back demeanor was long gone. Luke didn’t blame him.
“You came down here for a smoke? The place that’s off-limits?”
“I couldn’t smoke on the upper deck where the heat lamps are
, because that’s where everyone is dancing. It was cold on the promenade but warmer in the staircase. After I finished, I thought I heard someone yell, and entered the deck to see if anyone needed help. Then the bomb blew, and I was hit by a piece of shrapnel.” He pointed to his leg. His trousers were sliced open at the calf. “I hid in the locker for protection in case there was another blast. I was just about to come out so I could take care of the cut when you found me.”
“Wait. The bomb blew inward?” Luke asked. He turned to scan the gaping hole in the middle of the starboard side of the ferry. It cut through the car deck and into the underdeck. A few feet lower and they’d be in danger of taking on water.
“Yeah,” Ray said. “It blew from the outside. Two blasts in rapid succession.”
Luke cursed. Given that Yuri was likely the mastermind of this assault, he’d known charges set by scuba divers was a very real possibility. But this meant that if there were more, they were also on the boat exterior, and Luke didn’t have scuba equipment to search for them. Not to mention he couldn’t check the entire hull by himself in the next thirty minutes. He crossed the deck toward the hole to look at the jagged edges. As Ray had said, the metal had bent inward.
He turned to Parker. “Let him go.”
“No. He could be the one. He could be working with Yuri. He might be the one who set the charges.”
“Ray? He doesn’t dive. Everyone knows that.”
“So he drove the boat. Dammit. It makes sense. Only a handful of people knew about the case, and Ray was one of them because he saw you bring it up. He killed Annie and grabbed the case.”
“Annie was my cousin,” Ray said through gritted teeth.
“Ray knew about the case,” Luke said, “but he didn’t know it was at the museum.”
“He could have guessed—where else would you do electrolytic reduction in Neah Bay?”
“I didn’t know,” Ray said. “And even if I did—why the hell would I give a damn about the case? Enough to kill my cousin? You aren’t making sense, Parker.”
