"Well," Briggs sighed. "There's nothing for it. We have to send a boat over. Take a few men with some fire extinguishers and the medical officer with you, and go and see what the h.e.l.l's happened to the crew."

"Aye, sir," Gallagher said, and started to leave.

"And Pete," Briggs added.

"Yes, sir?"

"Be careful. I don't like the looks of this one bit."

"Don't worry, Cap'n," Gallagher answered. "I'll take my side arm and make sure a couple of the men are armed too."

"Good. And take a walkie-talkie with you and let me know what you find as soon as you can."

Gallagher went directly to the locked storage cabinet in the captain's cabin and dialed a combination to open the lock. He opened the double doors and took out three M16A a.s.sault rifles, a handful of clips, and a Colt Commander .45 automatic pistol in a leather holster. He 44.clipped the holster onto his belt and carried the rifles out onto the deck.

"Johnny," he said to a junior officer standing there, "take these, find two other men and the medical officer, and come with me."

After Johnny picked the men and rounded up the medical officer, Gallagher led them to a thirty-foot tender hanging from davits on the side of the ship. They all climbed in, and Gallagher signaled to another crew member to lower them into the water.

As the boat touched the large swells next to the ship, smoke from the freighter began to swirl and roil around them until visibility was reduced to a dozen yards or less.

The officer named Johnny started the seventy-five-horsepower engine on the tender, and they began to make their way toward the stranded freighter, all under the watchful eyes of Captain Briggs.

The trip took almost twenty minutes, going slow in the reduced visibility, until they were next to the side of the freighter that rose from the waters like a great, rusted wall of iron.

Gallagher was surprised to find a boarding ladder had already been lowered.

"That was thoughtful of them," he said, a frown on his face.

"Probably lowered it when they abandoned ship, Mr. Gallagher," Johnnysaid from the helm of the tender.

"You're probably right," Gallagher said, "but keep those M-16s handy."

"Yes, sir," Johnny said as he cut the engine and made the tender fast to the ladder.

Gallagher, like all good officers, was first up the lad- 45.45.der, and he clambered over the rail of the ship with his .45 in his hand. He saw nothing but smoke, and gestured for the rest of his men to join him on deck.

"You men spread out and see if you can find anyone alive," he said.

"I'll check the bridge and see if they left a log or anything to indicate what happened."

Gallagher climbed up a ladder to the bridge and entered the iron door on the side. He was surprised to find a man sitting in the captain's chair, calmly smoking a cigar.

"Good afternoon, sir," the man said, swiveling in his chair to stare at Gallagher.

"What the . . ." Gallagher began, until he felt the barrel of a pistol against his temple.

"Please be so kind as to hand your weapon to the gentleman behind you and you will live to see another day," the man with the cigar said.

Gallagher handed the Colt over his shoulder and said, "Just what the h.e.l.l is this? We came to try and help you."

The captain spread his hands, a wide grin revealing brown-stained teeth.

"As you can see, we are in no need of help. May I ask what your name is?"

"I am Peter Gallagher, second officer on the Exxon Marquis."

"Achmed," the man said, "would you please relieve Mr. Gallagher of that radio on his belt and hand it to me?"

As Achmed complied, the captain shrugged apologetically. "I wouldn't want you to attempt to make any inadvisable calls back to your ship. It would only result in more bloodshed."

"More bloodshed?"

"I am afraid the men with you who were carrying 46.weapons have been . . . dealt with in the only way possible."

"But I didn't hear any gunfire," Gallagher said, and then he noticed the pistol the man called Achmed was holding was equipped with a silencer.Gallagher whirled back toward the captain. "You b.a.s.t.a.r.d! " he yelled, and moved toward him.

Achmed swung the barrel of his pistol in a high arc and slammed it down on the back of Gallagher's head, knocking him senseless to the floor.

When he came to, Gallagher noted from his wrist.w.a.tch that only twenty minutes had pa.s.sed. He shook his head and got up on wobbly feet. He looked around the bridge, and saw the medical officer standing with his hands tied and his head lowered, a baleful expression on his face.

"Where are the rest of my men?" he asked.

The medical officer looked up, and then he cut his eyes to the rear of the bridge. Gallagher followed the look, and saw Johnny and the other two men laid out in their underwear with bullet holes in their foreheads.

Standing next to them, dressed in their clothes, were three dark-skinned men, all carrying the M16As Gallagher's men had been carrying.

"Just what is the meaning of this?" Gallagher asked the captain. "If you're planning on hijacking the ship, I warn you, it is empty. We were returning to Kuwait to refill, so you won't be able to sell any cargo."

The smile vanished from the captain's face and he got to his feet. "My plans are of no concern to you, Mr. Gallagher. Right now, I need you to radio back to your captain that all is under control and that you will be re- 47.47.turning to the ship with several casualties for proper medical treatment."

Gallagher sneered. "And if I refuse?"

The captain shrugged as he gave a signal with his eyes to Achmed. The man walked over to the medical officer and put the barrel of his gun against his head.

"Why, then I would have no choice but to tell Achmed to kill the officer and yourself," the captain answered.

"That's better than losing the entire crew," Gallagher replied through a tight throat.

"If that is what is worrying you, I will give you my word your crew will be safe," the captain said. "They will be taken as prisoners and held on board with no further loss of life, if you do exactly as I say."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Achmed, take Mr. Gallagher to the aft hold, show him what we have there, and then bring him back to me."

Achmed grabbed Gallagher by the shoulder and roughly led him along the deck until they came to a ladder leading down. They went down three flights, and then Achmed opened an iron door.Gallagher's eyes opened wide when he saw the amount and types of armament stored in the hold. There was everything from Stinger antiaircraft missiles to mortars and heavy machine guns, along with crate upon crate of hand grenades.

Achmed smiled at the expression of horror on Gallagher's face, and took him straight back to the bridge.

When he entered, the captain smiled grimly. "As you can see, Mr.

Gallagher, we are perfectly prepared to blow your ship out of the water with the resultant loss of all hands. However, if you do as I say, I will guarantee you no one else will be harmed."

48.Gallagher's shoulders slumped. He knew when he was beaten. "What is it you want me to do?"

The captain handed him the radio. "Here is what you must say. . . ."

Captain Briggs watched through his binoculars as the tender threaded its way through the soupy wall of smoke toward the oil tanker. He could see three men lying in the gunwales with b.l.o.o.d.y bandages over their heads and hands.

"Jesus," Briggs whispered to himself. "I wonder what they're carrying that could cause such a fire. Probably some sort of nitrite fertilizer."

Fifteen minutes later, he saw the tender being hauled aboard, and sat back down in his chair until Gallagher could give him his final report.

He jumped out of his chair when he heard the sound of gunfire, and was moving toward the door to the bridge when it burst open. Gallagher was shoved inside and followed immediately by two men.

"Captain, I'm sorry," Gallagher gasped as he fell against a chair.

"Good afternoon, Captain Briggs," one of the men said. "My name is Al Hazmi, and I am taking control of your ship."

"I'll be d.a.m.ned," Briggs cried, starting to protest.

Hazmi raised an automatic pistol and aimed it at Briggs's head. "Please, Captain. You have no choice. Even now my men are locking your men in one of the holds, and I a.s.sure you if you do not cooperate to the fullest, I will have them all summarily executed."

49.49.Briggs cast his eyes at Gallagher, who merely nodded. "He means it, Cap'n," Gallagher said, his voice almost a moan. "He's a stone killer."

"I will tell you what I told your first officer, Captain," Hazmi continued. "I mean you and your men no harm. I just have need of your ship to gain access to the port at Kuwait."

"They'll never let you dock," Briggs said.Hazmi smiled grimly. "No, but they'll let you dock, Captain Briggs."

Briggs folded his arms across his chest. "I refuse to help you do anything."

"Do you really mean to say you are willing to forfeit the lives of all of your crew and yourself just to keep me from getting into the port at Kuwait?" Hazmi asked, his voice silky smooth.

Briggs sighed. "No, I guess not."

50 SEVEN.

Buddy Raines was with the rest of his group at the firing range trying out the new weapons when the cell phone on his belt rang.

He put down the Vektor CR-21 he was firing and answered it. "Raines here," he said in a loud voice so he could be heard over the cacophony in the background.

"Buddy, this is Ben."

"Hey, Ben, why don't you come on over here to the firing range and try out these new goodies we're using?" Buddy asked, knowing Ben liked nothing better than to spend some quality time on the range.

"Love to, but can't right now. We've got a visitor from across the pond and I think you and the group oughta give a listen to what he has to say."

"Be there in fifteen," Buddy answered, knowing Ben wouldn't interrupt their training unless it was very important.

He signaled his team to put their weapons down and to follow him to Ben's office p.r.o.nto.

"What's going on, boss?" Coop asked as he lowered the Franchi FAS shotgun he'd been firing at an already shredded target.

"Some bra.s.s from Europe here to talk to us. I don't 51.know what about, but Ben said to hotfoot it over to his office."

When they entered Ben's office, Buddy and his team found a man dressed in the combat fatigues of the British SAS sitting across from Ben's desk.

Buddy walked over and held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Buddy Raines."

The man stood up, and Buddy noted he must have been six and a half feet tall. "h.e.l.lo General Raines," he said, "My name is Bartholomew Wiley-Smeyth."

Buddy grinned as they shook hands. "It's Buddy to my friends, and what do we call you? Major Wiley or Smeyth?" Buddy asked, noticing the major's insignia on his shirt.

The man grinned. "Bart will do nicely, thank you."

Ben explained. "Bart is here as part of SAS Intel, so I've asked Mike Post to join us."Just as he finished speaking, Mike Post, Chief of Intel for the SUSA Army, walked in the door, his unlit pipe in his mouth and carrying his ever-present briefcase as usual.

"Hey, guys, sorry I'm late. Had to finish decoding some communiques from the U.N."

"That's okay, Mike," Ben said. "We were just getting started. Why don't you grab some coffee from the pot and we'll let Major Wiley-Smeyth give us a sitrep."

"Sitrep?" Bart asked.

"Situation report," Ben said.

Bart smiled. "Oh, in England we call it an oprep for operations report."

"Like they say," Ben said, "two countries separated by a common language."

Once everyone had cups of coffee or juice from the 52.bar in the corner of Ben's office, Bart leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs as he spoke. "I've been sent here to give your people a heads-up on some recent happenings in Europe and the Middle East."

He paused to take a sip of the tea Ben had fixed him, trying to hide a grimace at the taste. "Our Intel had some information about a possible plan to smuggle some weapons-grade plutonium out of the U.S.A. and into Europe a couple of weeks ago."

"Plutonium?" Ben asked. "Does anyone over there besides Britain have the capability to use it to make a bomb?"

Bart shook his head. "No. That's what got our interest up in the first place. Why would any country risk transporting something so useless?"

"What did you find out?" Buddy asked.

"We had information the contraband was going to be flown from the U.S.A.

to Mexico City and then to someplace in Europe, but we couldn't get any information on the final destination. We did, however, know the name of the man making the carry: Muhammad Atwa. So, I sent two of my best men to intercept him at the Mexico City Airport. They were Hispanics, but could speak Arabic and Farsi and pa.s.s for Middle Easterners, just in case they were spotted by the Mexican authorities."

"Did they make the intercept?" Mike Post asked as he fiddled with filling his pipe.

Bart's face sobered. "No. In fact, they were found shot to death in a rest room stall after Atwa's plane had taken off for Abu Dhabi in the United Arab Emirates."

"Do you think this Atwa killed them?" Ben asked.